Hey everyone, I got married!

---

Psych! Like that would ever happen. I went on a tour set up by the school and at one of the stops a woman demonstrated an indigenous wedding ceremony. Since I was the only guy, I dressed as the groom and another student, Sarah from Ireland, dressed as the bride. It was very educational. Apparently it´s the custom that the marriages are arranged while they are babies or very young. And it's typical for them to marry at 15 years of age. It was lots of fun, but I think the sizes of their heads are much smaller than ours. That's what I believe.

We also visited a coffee and a macademica plantation. But their harvesting time isn´t until our early spring, so there wasn´t much activity.

Observations:

1) Cell phones are without a doubt ubiquitous. While we were listening to the indigenous woman talk about how they made the cloth, a ring sounded. Of course, you can never quite tell where a cell phone ring is coming from, so I assumed it was one of my companions. But soon the woman was struggling to dig it out of her pocket. The pygmies probably have them too.

2) More toilet talk: I know, I dwell on this matter too much for some people's taste, so please skip it if you like. BUT toilet paper, although in plentiful supply in the stores, when I go to use the facilities, I feel like I'm in a Seinfeld episode (Do you have a square to spare? Do you have a spare square?). Their rolls can't even be classified as single rolls. I would think with NAFTA, we'd be at least exporting double rolls down here. Why isn't that a pressing issue in the Bush administration? (I'd better watch out, the CIA is likely scanning my webblog as I write. If you don't hear from me, I'm probably in some cell in Guantanamo being tortured to find out what I know about the toilet paper trade. If so, please send toilet paper; they probably don't give out much either.)

Parasites, My Story:

Yeah, I made the mistake of eating a salad when I visited Atitlan Lake for the weekend. From appearances the restaurant looked nice, a place catering to tourists. How can I describe it? It was a Mexican restaurant; I ate an Italian salad (caprese); the bartender was Swiss; and they played Billie Holiday on the stereo. I gambled that I wouldn't have a problem with the food. Fortunately, the problem was/is more an inconvenience than a major illness, and I thought it would pass after a day or so (no pun intended). But after three days, back in Antigua, it just didn't go away, mostly an Imodium problem if you know what I mean. Most of the time I'd feel fine, then I wouldn't. Sylvia, my homestay mom, said I should go to the doctor to check it out because if it was parasites they needed to be killed; otherwise, they'd come back. And my one housemate said it would be better to have them checked out here, where they know about them (even the locals get them), then to wait until I get back to the U.S. because American doctors just aren't familiar with them.
So, the next day after talking to Sylvia, I went to class and asked Giovanny, my teacher, if he could go to the doctor with me. He knew a doctor I could see, so we walked through town to the doctor's office. It was like a field trip (a possible trip for Club Explore, right Joan?). How many tourists actually go to a local doctor's office? At least I didn't have to pay someone to shuttle me there. Like I said, being sick wasn't devastating, I was still able to do plenty, but I wanted to get it taken care of.
We walked into the waiting room from the noisy, crowded street. There's no door to close, so you can hear the traffic go by, and smell it too. My teacher and I sat and talked and went over my homework while we waited for the doctor. It was a small waiting room with the typical Antigua landscape paintings hanging on the walls. Another guy was waiting as well. As we sat there, we had a visit from the local "crazy" woman, harmless and sad. I shouldn't make fun really. Giovanny told me her whole sad story. But she was actually well dressed for a homeless person, mini-skirt and all. Almost stylish, in a European, cosmopolitan kind of way.
Eventually, the jolly, gregarious doctor introduced himself. Don't worry, he was educated at Rice University in Texas, USA, I found out later. The man has a fascinating history. He HAD to leave the country in 1990 because his life was threatened by the military government at the time in Guatemala. It was a time when many people were "disappearing," mostly notably in Argentina, but it happened elsewhere as well. He contacted the US government, while staying at the Dutch (?) embassy, and got some kind of political refugee status to live in the US. After the political situation was resolved (in 1996) and he finished his medical education (in 1998), he returned to Guatemala. But I regress. Luckily for me he spoke English fairly well. Going to the doctor is not a time to miss something in translation, that's why I asked my English-speaking teacher to come with me. The doctor, of course, asked me what my symptoms were and what had happened so far and where I had been. Then he placed his stethescope on my stomach to listen to the little critters. He said he could tell what parasite I had just by listening to the sound it made. I can't imagine American doctors being able to do that. And unlike being at home in the states, he spent quite a bit of time with me. Though Giovanny told me that he wasn't typical of most doctors in Guatemala. He's a Buddhist too.
To make a long story short (as if this isn't a long story), he gave me my 5 days worth of medicine and I'll hopefully be recovered in a few days. In a way, I'm glad I got sick because I got to experience something that was truly local, and I didn't have to really suffer. But next time I think I'd like to skip it. How many times do you need to see the pyramids, right?

---

Photos

Indegenous woman
She talked about the way they weave/sew the cloth, etc.